


I been wondering that maybe you've been thinking 'bout me

by okaystop



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Infidelity, M/M, Pining, Tour Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-01-14 17:25:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18480895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaystop/pseuds/okaystop
Summary: When he finally looked at Jon again, he found him staring at him, lips parted, face red, eyes dark. "You ever think about that, Tom?" he asked. His voice sounded strange, far away, strangled, like -It happened slowly. Tommy watched as Jon swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. His eyes, wide and dark, were focused on Tommy. He licked his lips and, Tommy froze, Jon pushed away from his side of the hot tub to move towards Tommy.





	I been wondering that maybe you've been thinking 'bout me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Timjan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timjan/gifts).



> There is **marriage infidelity** in this fic. If that's not your jam, please don't read.
> 
> It goes without saying but this is 100% fictional. Please don't share this with anyone involved or adjacent to being involved, thank you. 
> 
> Title is from Leeann Womack's "I May Hate Myself in the Morning."

Jon grinned at Tommy when he opened his hotel room door. "There's a hot tub upstairs," he said in greeting. He had a hotel towel thrown over his shoulder and flip-flops on his feet. "You in?"

There were many reasons for Tommy to say no. 

For one, he didn't pack swim trunks, though taking in Jon's white-t-shirt and jeans, it was possible that he hadn't either. That probably wouldn't be a good enough excuse then. It also probably was a good enough reason for Tommy to absolutely say no.

Another reason was that Tommy's mind immediately soared back in time to another hotel, another hot tub, another night with Jon long before they had the excuse of their wives with them in hot tubs. At some hotel in the midwest, in a hot tub they weren't supposed to be in that time of night, clothing optional and Jon's hands between Tommy's legs -

"I didn't bring my swimsuit," Tommy said, one hand on the door as he held it open.

"Neither did I," Jon said. "Just my TommyJohns. Come on."

The problem was, Tommy could never say no to Jon Favreau. How many of his big life moments were inextricably tangled with Jon's own? Even with something as innocuous (probably) as this, Tommy had trouble forming the word in his mouth.

"Yeah, okay. Let me grab a towel."

Tommy left Jon hovering between the room and the hallway and ducked into the bathroom for a towel. He was being stupid, he told himself. It was just two friends taking advantage of a quiet hotel hot tub. There was nothing in Jon's invitation or the situation in general that suggested otherwise. Tommy's own inability to move past something that happened over a decade ago was his problem, not Jon's.

He saw his reflection - flushed and wide-eyed - in the mirror as he left the bathroom. He shoved his room key into the back pocket of his jeans and stepped out into the hallway with Jon.

As they got into the elevator, Jon talked about their show that night, and Tommy was listening enough to nod and comment when he needed to. 

He was usually past this, past this feeling of walking on eggshells around Jon so that that pain kept him from doing something immensely stupid. Something like blurting out the words, "I love you" or kissing him or nuzzling his nose against the side of Jon's throat. He didn't know what was different tonight, if it was just the hot tub invitation, if it had been the way Jon's eyes had found his over and over again on stage during the show tonight, if it had been simply the fact that it had been a long time since Tommy had allowed himself to think back so vividly on the diversion their early friendship had taken. 

"I've been thinking about this all day," Jon said. He set his phone and room key down on one of the lounge chairs and then pushed off his flip-flops. He tugged his shirt off one-handed and then went for his jeans. 

Tommy watched him, unabashedly, because no one else was on the pool deck. All those morning hours at the gym made Jon's chest and abs look better than ever. Then his thighs, strong and lithe under his black boxer-briefs. When Tommy finally tore his gaze away, it was to find Jon looking at him, the corner of his mouth twitching into an amused smile. "You're still dressed," he said over his shoulder as he stepped down into the hot tub with a contented groan.

Tommy wanted to groan too, but for completely different reasons. He stripped down to his underwear and joined Jon in the hot tub, hesitating for a moment as to which was better - sitting opposite him and probably looking at his face the whole time, or sitting nearby, where he'd be within arm's reach. He sat opposite him.

Jon opened himself up, taking up as much space as possible, arms stretched out, knees wide. "Good show tonight," he said, leaning his head back. "Very loose, as Lovett would say."

"Yeah," Tommy agreed, keeping his arms and legs inside the hot tub at all times, back straight, neck chilled where it was exposed above the bubbling water. "I think we're finally getting the hang of this live show thing."

Jon laughed. God, Tommy loved making him laugh. Lovett was able to just by breathing, it seemed, sometimes, but Tommy had to work for it. It was easier when it was just the two of them, but that was because they had years stretched between them and Tommy knew what to say in private to get Jon to laugh like that. Things that couldn't be as readily said during an ad read. That's what usually made Jon laugh, not some silly off-hand comment about their live shows.

"This is good," Jon continued on. "I feel like I've been on edge all night, just need to relax before I can sleep." He lowered his chin to the side of his shoulder and looked at Tommy. "You know what I mean?"

"Sure," Tom said, shooting for casual, but he had to clear his throat and that took it away from that. "Usually I just call Hanna and she helps me out with that." He looked right at Jon. "Or I'm sure there's hotel lotion in your bathroom." The words came unsolicited, and Tommy had no one to blame but himself.

Jon's eyes widened, just enough to be noticeable. "Tom," he said, voice tight.

Tommy shrugged. "Better than sweating it out in a hot tub with me." Another flash of memory, this one of a hotel bathroom, Tommy on his knees looking up at Jon, hands spreading his thighs. A flick of his tongue, Jon's guttural groan. 

He looked away from Jon, tried to focus on the pool rules listed in chipped plastic on the wall.

"Fuck," Jon said a moment later. "I haven't thought about that in years."

Tommy knew better than to ask, thought about what? Because there was a strong likelihood that Jon was talking about being on the road during the 2008 campaign, with Tommy. The way that their friendship moved quickly and eagerly into stolen moments on the road. Shared handjobs without eye contact. Tommy sucking Jon off, barely able to wait to get his mouth around Jon's dick. That one time Tommy couldn't help himself and kissed Jon, throwing caution to the wind and expelling all of his pent-up emotion and love out into one kiss. 

Then Jon - Jon had pushed him away, and for the first time in their friendship, there was a fracture. When they put the pieces back together, Tommy knew it meant hands (and mouths) off. It never happened again. Any of it. And they absolutely never talked about it.

"Yeah," Tommy said, even though he'd thought about it _a lot_. 

He took Jon's silence as the end of the conversation, thankful for it. He shifted a little, rubbed his hands against his knees before reaching up and pushing a wet hand back through his hair. He was glad for the heat of the hot tub, leaving it to be blamed for the red flush spreading down his body, even though it wasn't _just_ the hot tub. 

When he finally looked at Jon again, he found him staring at him, lips parted, face red, eyes dark. "You ever think about that, Tom?" he asked. His voice sounded strange, far away, strangled, like -

Tommy shook his head, managed a half-hearted laugh. "What? No, of course not, I mean - not - just the hot tub and all, brings it to mind, that's all."

"Right," Jon said. He cleared his throat.

It happened slowly. Tommy watched as Jon swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. His eyes, wide and dark, were focused on Tommy. He licked his lips and, Tommy froze, Jon pushed away from his side of the hot tub to move towards Tommy. 

No, Tommy thought, panicked. He stood up quickly, water splashing as he climbed out of the hot tub. "I just remembered," he said, "I promised Lovett I'd read through the questions and answers for the game tomorrow." He angled himself away from Jon as he wrapped his towel around his waist and gathered up his clothes. At least the towel covered the fact that he was half-hard with even the smallest hint that Jon might have - 

"Oh, right," Jon said, his voice raspy but otherwise completely normal. "Have a good night." Now completely back to normal.

Tommy nodded, his shoes in one hand and his clothes in the other. "Night, Jon." And he left, quickly, barefoot and not dressed, without looking back.

 

*

The next night, a different hotel. Tommy cried off from an after-show drink and went back to his room. The show had been great, not as loose but that might have been Tommy's fault. He wasn't as 'on' as he could have been, his timing was off, the few jokes he tried out fell flat. A drink probably would have helped, but Tommy didn't think he could sit there with Jon, even with everyone else around, for even a half hour longer. Sometimes, being around Jon was just too much, even for Tommy. (Especially for Tommy.)

He spent longer in the shower than he meant to, then changed into clean boxers and a t-shirt to sleep in before settling on the bed with a book open in his lap. His phone was on silent, plugged in on the nightstand, just out of reach. He'd already called Hanna, but she was on her way out with friends and he hadn't wanted to take up too much of her time. 

It was one of those nights where his mind was going a mile a minute, making it impossible to concentrate on the words in any book, even a book he was really enjoying. It was the kind of night where it would be dangerous to get on Twitter, so he pushed down that temptation and picked up the TV remote. 

A knock at the door surprised him. He walked over to the door and opened it, found Jon on the other side. "You weren't answering texts," he said, a fuzzy smile on his face. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just tired," Tommy said. He waited for Jon to ask to come in, or to say why he was really there.

"I brought you a surprise," he said, digging around in his pocket until he could wave a small plastic bag of pot at Tommy. He couldn't tell how much Jon had had to drink, or if he'd already lit up. He probably had, what with the easy smile and heavily-lidded eyes and the low cadence to his voice. "Can I come in?"

Tommy knew he should say no, but of course he didn't. "Sure," he said instead, stepping aside and letting Jon inside. He closed the door behind him and followed Jon into the room. Jon sat on the edge of the bed and fiddled with the baggie. "We'll have to go out on the balcony if you want to smoke that," Tommy said, standing a few feet away, arms crossed, feeling exposed even though he was dressed. Something about the way Jon was looking at him.

"We don't really have to smoke," Jon said. "I just - can we talk?"

Tommy tightened up his stance. "Sure. What about?"

"Last night," Jon said, the words quick out of his mouth, "I was lying. I've thought about it a lot."

Another moment where Tommy could pretend he didn't know what Jon was talking about. He didn't say anything at all, just looked at Jon, waiting. He didn't move.

"Honestly, I probably think about it too much." Jon set the baggie aside and slapped his palms down at his knees. "What about you? How often do you think about it, really?"

He worked the words out of his mouth. "What does it matter?" Tommy asked, trying to keep his voice as even as possible. "It was years ago. A lifetime ago. It didn't go anywhere and we managed to stay friends through it anyway and now we're business partners, we're -" (married to other people) "- it doesn't matter how often I think about it."

"But you do think about it?"

Tommy sighed. "Jon, what's going on?" 

Jon wiped a hand against his jaw, pulled the corner of his mouth between his teeth. "I -" 

For someone whose words usually came more easily, Jon was struggling. If he wasn't struggling about _this_ , Tommy would do something. But what could he do? He couldn't move - he _couldn't_ \- because if he did, it would be to do something extremely inappropriate, like touch Jon's face or step between his knees or let his fingers slip into his hair.

"I never stopped thinking about it." Jon rubbed the back of his neck. "I was stupid, back then. And an asshole. It was one thing to just - sneak around but then you kissed me and I had to - you wanted me to deal with it and I didn't. Or I did, but I did it by deciding that I couldn't do it. Couldn't - admit it to myself."

Tommy didn't want to ask. Didn't want to know. Didn't want to participate in this conversation because it was pointless. They were a decade away from this conversation mattering, from it meaning anything or changing anything. He stood there, hoping that the way he felt wasn't evident on his face but knowing that he was pale and clenching his elbows, arms across his chest, too tightly.

"I couldn't admit that it wasn't just passing the time or stress or the campaign or whatever - boredom, I don't know. That it was more, it was you and -"

It had always been more for Tommy and he believed it was different for Jon. It's what let him be okay with this, with not more, for,the length of their entire friendship. "You're a decade too late," Tommy said, his voice sounding strange in his own ears.

"I don't think I am, actually."

Before Tommy could react, before he could even acknowledge what Jon was doing, Jon was on his knees in front of Tommy, pushing his back flat against the wall. His hands were at the tops of Tommy's thighs, fingers scraping at the skin just under the bottom of his boxers. His arms uncrossed, hit the wall at his sides. "Jon, what the fuck -?"

They'd never done this before, not this way. It was always Tommy on his knees, between Jon's legs. Tommy had understood it to be too gay for Jon, too real to suck another guy's dick, even if it was only Tommy's. He clenched his fists at his sides, anything to keep from gripping the back of Jon's head, fingers threaded into Jon's hair. 

"Jon." Was it a plea? A warning? A desperate attempt to stop this or one to keep going? Tommy didn't know. He thought that shit, he fell asleep and was having a sex dream about his best friend - again - but no, this was really happening. 

Jon looked up at him, his cheek against the outside of Tommy's thigh, his hands at the waistband of his boxers. "Please, Tom, I want to. Do you want me to?" All he could manage was a nod, which was enough for him but not for Jon. "I want to hear you say it."

"Yes," he gasped out. "God, Jon, yes. I want you to. Please." Then his hand was at the back of Jon's head and Jon was pushing Tommy's boxers off and Tommy wasn't thinking about anything else at all.

 

 

*

When Tommy woke up the next morning, too warm and still sticky, he wasn't alone. Jon was wrapped around Tommy from behind, knee pushed between Tommy's thighs, palm pressed against Tommy's chest, his cheek uncomfortable against the back of Tommy's neck. Or maybe it was just that Tommy was uncomfortable, waking up like this after fucking around with Jon.

"Fuck," he muttered, disentangling himself and getting out of bed quickly. He fumbled for his phone, scanning through the Twitter alerts and Slack notifications and drunk texts from his wife. His hand shook a little, and as Jon stirred behind him, he bolted for the bathroom, to hide.

Tommy washed his face and brushed his teeth, moved the washcloth over his stomach, and thighs, as well, adjusted himself in his boxers. He hadn't expected Jon to still be there in the morning, and now he was giving him an out. Leave now, he thought, while Tommy was in the bathroom, and they could forget the entire night happened and go back to normal.

It hadn't been any different than before. They hadn't kissed. Jon's mouth had been nearly everywhere else besides Tommy's mouth. Blowjobs and handjobs, though Tommy remembered the way Jon looked at him this time, an intense stare until his eyes rolled back and his mouth opened as he came. But they hadn't kissed. So they could just pretend this was a fluke and nothing happened. 

But something did happen. Something that absolutely shouldn't have happened. Happened.

Tommy wasn't expecting Jon to knock on the bathroom door. "Hey, everything okay?"

He rubbed his face. "Yeah, I'm fine." He opened the door. 

Jon stood there, hair mussed from sleep. He'd pulled on a t-shirt and was leaning his cheek against the door frame. A warm, fond smile that Tommy would never tire of seeing spread across his face. "Morning," he murmured.

"We should probably get down to breakfast soon," Tommy said, "if we're going to eat before the flight." He didn't look at Jon, tried not to catch his eye even in the mirror. "I'm going to just hop in the shower first."

Jon reached out, his fingertips at Tommy's elbow. "Wait. Tommy." He stepped up next to him, right into Tommy's personal space. His hand slid up to Tommy's jaw, his thumb against his chin. "Hey." He leaned in, giving Tommy time to step away (which Tommy thought he should do, really, but his feet were planted firmly on the ground and he couldn't move), then opened his mouth against his. 

Tommy felt like he was having an out-of-body experience. He froze, for such a short moment that it really didn't even matter, and then wrapped his arms around Jon, palms digging into his shoulder blades. He met Jon's kiss, which wasn't chaste or gentle at all, but was instead hungry, hot, and wanting. If this was going to be it (and it had to be it), he wanted to make it count. 

Jon kissed Tommy like he needed him to breathe. Tommy kissed Jon back like the world was ending. 

Jon nudged Tommy back until he hit the bathroom counter. Tommy pressed his palms, fingertips, whole hands against Jon's back. They rocked their hips together and Tommy broke off the kiss with a gasp, panting. His fingers curled against the back of Jon's neck. He swallowed, trying to figure out what he needed to say, what words could be put out there between them, but Jon nuzzled his nose against Tommy's cheek and kissed him again. Slower, deliberate. Achingly so.

"Jon," Tommy managed to get out, even as Jon wouldn't let him pull away from the kiss. Tommy lingered, his lips wet and swollen. He forced his hand up between them and flattened it out against Jon's sternum. He pushed back, just enough. "I'm going to - I have to be the one to walk away this time," he said. "I _can't_ do this. We can't."

"I want to. I want you. Tom, I lo -"

Tommy kissed him only so that he didn't have to hear the words. He angled his hips just right, shoved himself against Jon with a groan lost between them. Got his hand down to Jon's waist, brushing past the tops of his hip bone. He kissed him again until he was light-headed, until Jon was the one to pull away, wide-eyed, flushed. "Please go," Tommy whispered.

Jon opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He held Tommy's gaze for a moment and then nodded, once, before turning back into the room. Tommy hung his head and closed his eyes. He didn't move again until he heard the hotel room's door close.

**Author's Note:**

> Want more? The wonderful **Timjan** wrote Jon's POV and it's devastating. What are you waiting for - go read!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [pretending that it's right](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19822162) by [Timjan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timjan/pseuds/Timjan)




End file.
